Age of Death
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: It's the 1970's, Grell and William have changed greatly and Ronald returns to London after a 30 year absence. How has the 20th century impacted these three immortals, and how much has remained the same?
1. New Year's Resolutions

**Age of Death**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author's Note: This has been a concept I have been wanting to do something with for over a year: the reapers in the '70s. You first saw this in the form of a crack cosplay, then in a oneshot called "A Perfect Night Off." Well here is the full story. The story is episodic and will jump around a bit in timeline and narration. This is an original concept and treat this like an AU. Canon is only a baseline and will be manipulated, added upon, or ignored. Also expect extensive mentions of political and social issues through history, including LGBT issues, religion, race, sensitive historical events, and many others.

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**Prologue: New Year's resolutions**

-C:\Users\GSutcliff2\Documents\BoysinHeat\Ch1

-2 Jan 1976 22:12

Ext - Piccadilly Circus - Night

It is New Year's Eve; 1975 will die tonight in the screaming birth of 1976.

The square is packed with throngs of merry people donning glittery, multicolored caps that read "Happy New Year" or holding all the manner of noisemakers. A chatter echoes through the crowd with a few added shouts and screeches for good measure. It is cold with the threat of rain, but the crowd pays no kind to the ill weather. Some are drunk on merriment, many are just drunk.

There are a few news trucks scattered around the perimeter. Channel 1 and Channel 3 have their respective well-dressed anchors strategically placed around the square getting some quotes out of screeching revelers. Even the American Broadcasting Corporation has a few cameras perched from balconies showing how the Brits celebrate their New Year's in some international spectacle.

On one low rooftop out of sight of all the giddy masses stands one FIGURE, one SPECTRE looking down over this sea of humanity; feet in a steady position on the shingles, arms crossed, smile in place. He finds this all rather quaint.

Here are these happy humans celebrating but one more turn of the year in their gaudy finery. They are all sinners and/or saints from different backgrounds, different histories. Some are here to just enjoy the revels, some are here to lift wallets, some want that New Year's Kiss, and some want a bit more than a kiss. How lovely they all are making such a fuss over one more year.

The SPECTRE peers at these humans, savoring their liveliness before he finally decides to join the party. He jumps from the roof and gently plummets five stories, landing gracefully on the ground below. He then takes a casual stroll into the crowd, shaking off his supernatural invisibility and walking amongst the humans looking like just another regular bloke. But this man in his fashionable red leather coat and shaggy hair is not one of them. He has seen the turn of two hundred years and then some; over 200 of these little New Year's spectacles.

From the third George to the second Elizabeth, the SPIRIT has called London his home for ages. He has walked in the streets and skipped across the rooftops of Piccadilly Circus hundreds of times watching everything change. Horses and cobblestones are now metalled roads and smoggy cars, wigs and petticoats have changed to jeans and short skirts, mud and horse shit has been replaced by papers and soda bottles.

What will always remain the same is the joy of this New Year's night, and the spectacle of London. There another thing that will always remain constant, one thing this SPIRIT embodies; DEATH. DEATH will come for all these people someday, but not tonight; the REAPER is not on duty for another hour.

DEATH is now walking among the crowd this evening, though in a jovial mood. The REAPER takes a moment from his schedule to engage in a little celebrating.

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A little overdramatic? Perhaps, though I do enjoy a nice dramatic entrance (in so many ways). Who knows maybe the above attempt at narrative might turn into something. I've been trying to think of a concept for a screenplay. Cinema fascinates me to no end, though I have been more the actor (and actress) than the playwright. Who knows, my fancy is fickle.

Right now I am having a little too much fun with the new playtoys they installed in each of our quarters; another technological wonder we get ahead of the humans. The office computer is a becoming a bit more common, but this one is a bit more advanced; a little less boxy with a bit more ease of use.

The wondrous part is all our systems are hooked into one server. We don't need to phase down to the main office to hand in our reports, we can file them remotely when we get off at an awkward hour. Still we need to do office hours, the bosses would rather we didn't laze about in our rooms pretending to do work between staring at the telly. We got a new system yesterday, right on New Year's Day: a prototype model from our technicians. This won't be perfected in the human world for another twenty years.

In the spirit of a new year and a brand new toy, I may as well act on a new resolution; to pick up journaling again. I kept a diary off and on back when Vickie the harpy was on the throne, but it was short lived. This time I don't have to waste any ink or cramp my hand. Now there's password protections instead of flimsy keys to keep prying eyes away. As for the ones with more technical savvy than brains, if they get past the gates of these castle walls they're going to find a nasty dragon in wait. Then again I did label this file something rather unappealing for the average office boy, hopefully that alone will keep prying eyes away. Yes, a life of wicked deeds makes for a life of over cautiousness in some areas.

May as well start this little record with the holiday, the exact one I described so grandly a few paragraphs back. It was worthy of such a definition. For the past five years I have tried to spend New Year's at Piccadilly Circus. It is such a frenzy of humanity there; so many drunken, screaming people in one tight space. All these bodies pressed together, steam rising into the air; so glorious.

I do aim to have a more riotous party next year. That will be the 200th anniversary of a New Year's party at Earl Phantomhive's manor. It was such a gloriously fucked up evening; full of sex and booze and bloody death, they still talk about it today. Next year I need to ring in the occasion grandly, just not as grandly as that night.

As for House Phantomhive, Earl Charlie is still on winter holiday in Aspen with Countess Abby and the kids. He sent me a postcard with this lovely photo of a snow covered mountain, recommending some exquisite restaurants if I ever take a holiday there. Thanks but no, not a snow bird myself; English cold is enough for me. In fact I already have arrangements in Saint-Tropez when I take holiday time in the spring. I do know the earl is having a dinner party shortly after his return. I did receive an invitation before he left for the States. I wonder if this is a general gathering or reserved for his more intimate circle of rowdies; I do enjoy surprises.

Enough about Charlie, I see him coming and going plenty of times. There is another London homecoming I'm positively joyous about; one cocky old ghost who I've been lucky to get a Christmas card from every few years. Then again he didn't leave London under very pleasant circumstances, I can't say I blame him for being a bit scarce with his old associates. Now he's been calling a bit frequently, I'm getting used to hearing his voice again. Apparently his gig in West Berlin is getting a little tedious after thirty some odd years. The novelty of seeing another side of life has worn off, though the poor boy is getting homesick.

If all the paperwork passes the right bosses, Mr. Ronald Knox will be rejoining us in London. The whole matter is still in the talking stages, but I've seen a few forms pass through. I am merry as a schoolboy about his return, but it has been a bit of a long time. I'm sure little Ronnie has grown up even more.

He was still that swaggering little bastard even during the last war, I doubt much has changed. He is a senior himself now, our boy's all grown; the question is has he truly matured? I am a manager now and he's never got on too well with management; that's one way to test this. Still, he was my junior and we were as thick as thieves by the time he left my tutelage. Worst comes to worse I'll whip the little bugger in line.

I think the unpredictability of his return excites me even more. The same flesh is coming back, but will it be the same ghost? I'm more than intrigued to see how this personage will interact with this stage. Alas that won't be for another few months at the very least, likely longer the way the bureaucracy moves.

I did ask Will how he felt about little Ronnie's return. The last time Ron was in the office his fist shared an intimate moment with Will's jaw to the accompaniment of a few angry screams and one loud crack. Will's jawbone did mend itself, but many wounds leave phantom aches years after the fact especially on reference to the one who caused it. Will has changed a lot too, his own ego was put very nicely in check though under some unpleasant circumstances of his own.

He wasn't as put off by the thought of Knoxie's return as I thought he would be. He has been more collegial in general, I never thought that could be applied to Knox but perhaps he has come that far. It's a shame, they used to be friends. They formed a lovely bond over my comatose body back in '90, I was happy to wake and join the party. Wars, however, have a way of digging up old rubbish. I learned this the hard way and we lucky sods had the biggest wars in modern history to contend with. Everything those two put aside collapsed in the '40s. Hopefully thirty years of peace and growing up a bit can clear a few things out.

We are three different men now and these are much different times. Reapers, however, have the nasty habit of letting decades go by without a notice. It is too easy to remain a statue; the same carvings and moldings remain, but are green and rusted with the winds and storms of change. Even those who do change still harbor the same idiosyncrasies and grudges deep down.

It's no use speculating though, everything will play as it plays and I will watch it all with opera glasses and a smile.

I'll certainly be updating this little journal on the developments. It will probably have that amusement factor, if not become something so embarrassing I'd rather toss away the whole computer. It's rare I am ever embarrassed like that; not unheard of, but rare (as some blighters in the office have found out, but that's another story).

So I bid adieu to this journal for one evening. They put me on for an early shift tomorrow, desk work unfortunately and the fun stuff a bit later. One wouldn't think a title like "Field Supervisor" would involve that much desk work, but as I said such is the nature of bureaucracy. I'll settle in with some tea and catch some telly to settle me in for the night.


	2. From Scarlet to Rhett

**Age of Death**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

This is an original concept that should be treated like a head canon-based AU. Canon is only a baseline and will be manipulated, added upon, or ignored.

Author's Note: The format of this story will be changing from what was originally planned. Expect this to be told more from Grell's journal entries.

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**Part 2: From Scarlet to Rhett**

C:\Users\GSutcliff2\Documents\BoysinHeat\Ch2

8 Jan 1976 00:43

As I wait for a few respective offices to get their thumbs out of their arses and process Ronald's transfer papers already, another friend of mine is back in London. This one was only gone for a few months, but I still missed her like crazy.

My old girlfriend Linda went on one of these grand tours of Europe with her husband; a month in Paris, a few weeks at time in Vienna, Naples, Zurich. It would be tempting to say it must be nice to have a rich husband, I think it would be more appropriate to say how nice it is to have such a supportive soul mate in general who is willing to be so generous.

Calvin comes from some old money but invested his share wisely. He owns a few high-end restaurants across the city and a catering company with clients with some weighty names. When Princess Margaret used his services for some soiree a year ago, his demand went up and his purse got fatter. He received a bit of attention in the press, no publicity is bad publicity. Alas a few gossip rags got wind of his partner in vice and had some lovely comments about "Mrs. Linda Brampton, maiden name Randall Haith; a transsexual drag queen known as Linda Luscious. Mr. Brampton was rumored to be a regular at Miss Luscious' club and decided he wanted some more privacy with his favorite 'lady.'" Most of us actually found this amusing in its blatant crassness, even Linda and Cal. They showed the articles proudly. I believe such information was supposed to be scandalous.

Even if Calvin didn't have the resources he does, he is still a lovely human being. He's certainly making Linda a happy woman and for that I can only thank him from the bottom of my heart. She deserves a good man; one who cares about her for who she is and not what she was once defined as. Her last surgery was finished a few months before, the last bit of her becoming who she truly is. Calvin paid for the procedure; ever the loving dear. After she healed, they went on their trip as the ultimate celebration. Technically they can't be married on paper (thanks to the government), but since when did paper stop anyone?

A long time ago such a story would have made me ragingly jealous; how come she can have a soul mate and I can't? Now I don't give a toss, I stopped defining my existence by infatuation a long time ago. I realized how liberating it is being untethered; not waiting for "the one" when you can have the "as many as you want." I was of that mindset as a teenage mortal then got a bit older and felt like an old maid. Now I'm much older and realizing I had the right idea when I was 17; go figure. At least I can play in the backdoor legally now, there's nothing to bloody hide anymore...well other than hiding the obvious in the obvious.

Linda invited me to a cocktail party her and Cal were having in their lovely townhouse in Notting Hill, naturally I was welcome to bring a guest. I had a few names in my black book of potential escorts, though I didn't feel like risking the company of a refined man of appearances and finding out in that environment with these friends how uncouth he is; whether in manners of opinion. I was planning to go stag, perhaps it would be easier to pratter with the guests that way.

I did invite William along, intending the invite to be a joke. I was rather surprised when he actually said yes to it; pleasantly surprised of course. I have been trying to get him to be a bit more social over the past few years. As I mentioned in my last entry he has relaxed much in the last few decades, though his idea of socializing has always been book chats over tea. He has met Cal a few times and both of them have rather calm personalities. Perhaps I convinced him enough this isn't going to be some coke-filled grindhole, he knows my days in such places are over.

I believe it was such dirty din that Linda and I first met. It was in the late 60's if I recall, '69, maybe '70. Back then she was known more as Randall, a skinny mouse who dropped out of some nameless community college and threw herself in the drag scene. She was Sweet Pea for a time, going with this plant theme. I was Rosie and I took her under my wing like a mother hen. She only flourished, then left for New York for a time. A few years later little Sweet Pea tossed away her ugly green dresses and was a true diva; Linda Luscious. Then she took off her shirt after a show and I saw those two ripe hormone-induced grapefruits. That was when I first learned how much she had found herself.

She was now teaching me a few things and I was an eager pupil. I became Miss Scarlet, complete with trashy debutant dresses and a few pin curls. I sure as hell wasn't using a wig; I was envied by more than a few people. Linda would come out in her gorgeous Hollywood-inspired dresses and blonde wigs. Oh what a lovely team we made onstage; give us some Supremes songs and the right lighting and we were goddesses. More girls joined our caravan; the lovely chocolate-skinned Ambrosia in her sparkly pastel dresses, Doctor Yes Please with her lab coat and go-go boots. Every other night was a party; colorful cocktails, snorting blow off some man's naked body, all the tail any of us could have wanted.

Alas the life of parties almost always spells bad news, especially for me. For me opening a bottle is akin to unleashing demons. I got back into the mindset of "just a little won't hurt, it's been long enough since the last time I fucked up. Maybe I'm cured." I was lucky to restrict it to clubs. It was when I would wake up very morning with a dry mouth and queasy stomach I knew I was making a mistake. My will was a bit stronger when the cravings started coming back. I made an effort to drink less at clubs, instead I would do a couple more lines. That was a bit more exciting than booze, and I never had a problem with coke as I did with booze and a few other things.

Then there was that one night I did more lines in one sitting than I ever had, not making the mental connection that shit makes your neural impulses go haywire. In my case that means electrical impulses slamming right against the pieces of scar tissue in my brain put there by way of Cassius the Laughingstock. I had spent the past eighty years avoiding trolley lines and making sure I stayed ethereal for electrocuted corpses because of what could happen if I was shocked. The same thing happened the moment I decided to be intelligent with a rolled pound note to my nose.

Naturally I come around on the floor in a pool of my own piss drooling blood after gnashing on my tongue, my head in Linda's lap and her mascara was running down her face. Everyone in the club was staring at me by now. Apparently I was shaking rather awful for about a few minutes, Ambrosia told me in a cracking voice how everyone thought I was dying. I knew I wasn't, still I was the only one who knew my own condition. Apparently there was a heated debate about calling an ambulance, considering the amount of illegal substances right out in the open.

I ended up getting taken to Linda's trashy apartment, weakly mumbling something about having a mild epileptic condition (which is technically what it is). I woke up in one of Linda's nightgowns, seeing Linda sitting in a chair taking one of her injections. I looked in the mirror and what a fright I was. Make-up a mess, dried blood still at the corners of my mouth. I found out the downside of the reaper innovation of contact lenses; mine had been in all night and my eyes were deep red and oozing. Infection isn't an issue with us, though still it was dreadful.

That was the beginning of the end for most of us. Linda and Ambrosia told me that scared the wits out of them. Linda was soon talking more with Cal; he was a regular patron and a wonderful tipper. It wasn't long before he swept her off her feet. As for me, I was actually promoted; my performance was charming the pants off the bosses and I was given the position of Field Supervisor in District 7 (aka SoHo). That was my signal; I earned a few demerits before for drinking, now I knew I had to stay away from the bad stuff. Ambrosia went back to being Andre and opened a successful club of his own. Unfortunately Michael, our Doctor Yes Please, got deeper into the scene and into some nastier things. Last we heard he was in a clinic for heroin by court order.

Then Linda got more into her transformation. The NHS stopped dragging its heels and finally approved making her grapefruits into full on melons. Cal and I were by her side much of the time. I even volunteered to change bandages, wipe away fluids, put codeine pills in her shaking hands. I am capable of being altruistic, especially to someone I consider a friend. A larger part of me was curious, wanting to see whether or not I was willing to go through all this myself.

In the end the answer was gradually an all out no. A hundred years ago I might have jumped at the opportunity without question. Such is the blessing of immortality, you get plenty of time to truly think things over and get to know yourself a bit better. You go through things mortals cannot fathom, you experience and survive so many more tragedies and all of it shapes you. I'm not the person I was when I was recruited not am I who I was during that Ripper rubbish.

I can't credit Linda as the catalyst for this ending, that prize truly goes to Cassius. It's so easy to preen yourself and pretty yourself up when you have a working body to do so. When you can barely sit up in bed, when the nurse has to bring the piss pot over and put you into position, when walking is an exhausting endeavor, when the doctors tell you they're amazed your speech isn't a slurring mess let alone that you're even alive at all, when you hear about how much of your cranium they had to saw off to save your life you get a bit of a different perspective. I was happy when I could finally grow my hair out and eat enough to not look like a corpse, make-up and pretty dresses seemed like a distant memory.

I didn't jump back into my vanity after that whole ordeal. Then came the great wars and every calamity associated with them, along with it close friends falling apart. The 60's was the first era where I could actually return to a bit of frivolity, but it would never be the same. By the time I had heard about such types of procedures I had long given up the fantasy of being a lovely housewife to a handsome husband, though my curiosity was piqued. I went back to pondering if indeed "God made a mistake." I had said that to so many people a long time ago, now I had the opportunity to do something about it if I was so inclined. In the end I decided I was not so inclined.

Yes it does cross my mind if Linda would make the same decisions a hundred years from now; if she were in my condition and given a hundred years in her original, unaltered physical state with such distractions would she ever be satisfied with it? No one will ever know. I do have a feeling the answer would be no. Why? Because she never felt right about her body, she told me she felt this since she was a child. As for me even though I talked a great game about my feminine wiles and desire for a baby (even though we all know reapers are barren), I can't recall having an issue with being male. I can't recall feeling as if my body was out of place.

No, something was wrong with me: my "abnormal" preferences. When I was 17 this was a source of pride. Fuck you world! I'm a sodomite! I'm a sinner! I'm going to hell! Isn't it grand? If getting it up the bunghole is so vile, I guess means killing people is nothing different; you could get equally hanged for both back then. When you're over a century old, realizing you never really had elder years in a normal sense, and getting this latent urge to settle in it's a bit difficult to do that knowing what you really want is impossible within society. Yes reapers have always been more open-minded, but pausing to nest is a bit frowned upon within our realm. There is no room for anything but business; maybe a few side affairs, but nothing resembling a family within the realm.

So you try to find a wife and try to convince yourself maybe you actually have a fancy for women. I tried that with a certain woman; a lovely, poisonous murderess, but I'd rather not get into that. The other option is to convince yourself you really were meant to be a woman. What's a molly but a man being "abnormal" and making a mockery of his sacred masculinity? Fate must have robbed you your true form, denying you your happiness. It was a conclusion, but one with no options, until the past few decades that is. Since meeting Linda and a few other ladies, I've felt like a whining baby in comparison.

Then again never did I imagine where we would be today. Never did I know the term "gay" would mean something besides "happy" let alone have legal rights and civic movements associated. Now it's not unheard of for a woman to work and not have children; wanting to be a housewife is no longer the normal desire. Hell we've had female dispatchers since the first Great War. And of course, it is possible to change your body to another sex. Ironic that the moment this door opens for me, it comes with windows to so many other sides.

There was only one conclusion I could make. No, my body wasn't wrong for my head; my head was wrong for my everything and that was the least of it. Watching Linda's transformation helped show me the difference between a cowardly poofter who thinks he needs to change to be "normal" and a warrior reclaiming her true body a bloody piece of flesh at a time.

The final, defining moment was that first visit after her stitches were removed from that final procedure. Cal covered everything, he wanted her happier sooner than the government did. She saw me as soon as she got out of the doctor's office. Shameless as ever, she hiked up her skirt, pulled down her lacy things, and showed me her newly crafted cunny. Oh how proud of her I was, how happy I was for her final victory. And oh how my own bits and pieces started aching with the tiniest thought of how said victory was gained. Maybe Mr. Freud was right.

I eventually left drag altogether, I performed for a while in much calmer places but who the hell was I fooling? All desire I once had to be a pretty lady crashed and burned. I would rather appreciate the body I had; the one that was nearly lost many, many years ago. All the rules for men and women that were shoved down my throat since birth were burned with feminists' bras. I was indeed a free man now and I was ready to make some changes of my own.

In my case a vital snip was also involved, as in my hair of course. I got this midlength tousled shag like Freddie Mercury and these other glam rock boys have. Normally I still wear suits in my off time, now I started wearing a bit more denim and a few t-shirts. Lately I have had more of a thing for smart suits and designers. I do confess I've been dressing a bit more to the trends, though keeping some nicer colors than lime greens and oranges. Just a week ago I decided to get my hair cut a bit shorter. Now it's a nice choppy shag cut, it does somewhat resemble the cut I had when leaving the academy but much more stylish. It was a brave move on my part, the last time my hair was this short it was because I finally had the energy to grow it out a little more; a sign I was healing. I actually loved how this cut came out. My hair is so bloody thick anyway, this was so much lighter.

I arrived at the cocktail party with my charming new haircut, wearing my new blue Christian Dior suit with this red silk tie; oh how I love Dior. William walked beside me, looking a bit smart himself in this white turtleneck with a black sport coat. He has been wearing fewer suits in his off time. I have been giving him a few pointers, but his fashion sense has been surprisingly neat.

We went into a room of well-dressed guys and gals. And there was the hostess; her hair n a stylish bob and colored a beautiful golden. I amply complimented her silver Halston dress; the drape was perfect over her curves. Cal was in a Ralph Lauren jacket with a green sweater; looking very laid-back academic. Andre and his boyfriend were there, so many handsome boys were there too. We had a few glasses of fruity, watered down spirits; the kind I can touch because they don't obliterate me. Linda told me of life as a working woman; she took a few accounting courses and is now doing the books for a dressmaker.

So many of my mates were running their hands through my hair. Linda was playing with it every time she saw me, Andre's hairstylist boyfriend gave detailed critique on how well the cut framed my face. Andre commented on how much of a handsome gentleman I was looking.

"Now all you need is a mustache or something, look even more butch," Andre said, then pointed at a couple lovely lads walking by. "Something like what he has, that chap looks sexy doesn't he?"

The point turned into a light wave, all of is in the circle has a nice little laugh over the idea.

By the end of the party, Will and Cal were actually sitting down for a chat (I believe their conversation involved paper suppliers, but the spirit was still there). I was eying some of the other gents, Andre was kidding but I couldn't help but notice the lads with furry upper lips. Yes my mind did ponder what I would look like with one of those, a silly thought at first but one that somewhat intrigued me.

As I eyed the cute boys, of course I was getting a few chides of "You sure Willie boy won't mind?" with a wink or two. No, Will wouldn't give a shit. We were comfortably friends by now with the occasional recreation time. I would even point out boys for him, hoping maybe one will shake a few windows with him.

He's only now coming to terms with the fact he and I share more interests than he was willing to admit, though that is a hard process for some people. While I was playing the lovely lady a hundred years ago, he was taking the role of some supernatural machine lacking all emotion but cold reason. Both of us have changed our priorities a bit. Now he can carry himself rather well in human society, mostly thanks to my tutoring. I have gotten him out on some dates, a few solicitors and caterers; all businessmen like he. He has yet to take any of these gents into the bedroom, but at least he's going out (or rather coming out).

If the old me knew I was setting up dearest William on dates with other men, I would have scythed the new me in a blind screaming rage. As I said, infatuation was becoming a bit boring. Most of my infatuation with William was more based on the sudden end of our first series of affairs; the open ending, the unrequited passion, the lover who turned cold. All of it hurt like hell but I was such a masochist then. All of that is behind us, another thing I have Cassius to thank for. That failed angel aimed to kill me, instead he helped me get my life in order. Thanks, chap! I'd say I owe you one but Bassie gave you plenty.

The evening drew to a close, I gave Linda kisses goodnight; we promised we would see each other as often as possible. I gave a handshake to Cal and kisses to Andre, then William and I departed; walking a few blocks first then phasing back to our realm. We had some tea and chatted lightly about the evening in Will's room. Jokingly I brought up Andre's little beauty suggestion.

"And he said 'Now all you need is a mustache or something, look even more butch,'" I recalled.

William actually snorted a little, then covered his mouth in the threat of giggles.

"Now I'm actually picturing you in a mustache," he said.

I chuckled a bit back.

"I know, it would make me look way too handsome," I snickered.

He stared at me and chuckled even harder. I looked back at him with this little grin.

"And how do you think I would look in one?" I asked, leaning into him a bit more. "Tell me seriously."

William sipped his tea and paused.

"The very thought of you with any facial hair is mind-boggling," he replied.

"Well I have grown it before," I said.

"Yes, for what an hour at a time, getting in and out for an investigation? Then you scrape your face you just kissed the backside of an elephant."

I guffawed a bit loudly. William chuckled, then pensively stared at my face.

"In truth I don't think you would look half bad with something modest," he said.

"You really think so," I chuckled.

"That's simply my humble opinion."

I sipped my tea, then a rather interesting idea came to mind. I put down my cup with purpose, then looked at Will and smirked. He eyed me curiously, then I rose from the couch and skittered to the washroom.

"You're going to try it aren't you?" William said.

"How do you know I don't need to take a raging shit right now?" I said, walking into the loo.

"I would say your bowels have impeccable timing then," William replied.

I laughed a little back, then closed the door; flipping the light switch and looking in the mirror. I stared my face for a moment, coming up with a strategy. I had done this a few times a long time ago, but only for quick disguises I would shave off as soon as my work was done. This time I was actually playing myself instead of Tom the goateed gambler or Reinholdt the corrupt doctor with the curly mustache. I was playing myself: what kind of facial hair would Grell Sutcliff wear in a normal sense? I had to giggle at the thought of it.

I came up with a concept, then traced my finger over my upper lip; concentrating my energy. Shoots of flame red hair popped out like blades of grass and grew a few centimeters. After a minute the top of my lip was covered in a modest amount of hair. I stared at myself in the mirror. It was like seeing a different person, only this was no disguise. I grinned from ear to ear; bloody hell did I look handsome.

I found a small pair of grooming scissors in the vanity and did a little trimming until it was nice and neat. I did another sweep with my fingers to brighten it to the vibrant red my hair was now as opposed to my natural flame ginger. I stood back, then looked at myself a little more; popping my collar up with a grin. I blew a kiss to my reflection, then turned out the light and slowly opened the door.

"Now give me your honest opinion," I said, keeping behind the door.

"All right, but it might be devastating," William coolly replied.

"Oh how I love it when you're cruel to me," I snickered.

I took a dramatic pause, then walked from the loo back first. I then spun around, hands out facing him. His eyebrows raised high and his mouth slightly dropped.

"Oh dear gods," William said.

I gave this evil chuckle, then sat back down. William kept staring at me the whole time, though I only saw a look of amused awe.

"It's that glorious isn't it?" I said.

He kept staring at me, I leaned a little into his face.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this," William said.

"Yes?"

"It suits you."

I did a small opera clap with a smirk.

"No joke, it suits you rather well," he said with this amazed chuckle.

"It makes me look dashing, doesn't it," I replied, lightly twisting one side of it.

"I can't argue with that. How do you like it?"

"Oh I'm liking it very much."

"So much you'll wear it into the office tomorrow?"

"Why yes. If only to watch everyone piss themselves in amazement."

"I would pay to see that."

"Then swing by SoHo tomorrow, say you've got some reports from the main office."

"I would if I wasn't in conferences all day. You'll have to tell me how it went and who dropped something."

"Oh you know I'll have those details, I'll give you a lovely narrative."

I fell to my knees, leaning in his lap. He took a sip casually, though I saw that little smirk over his face.

"Now tell me, would it bother you to kiss a man with a bristly upper lip?" I asked with a grin.

"I can't answer that without experience," he said.

I raised myself up with hands on his legs, then kissed him. He gently grabbed my collar and kissed me back. William slightly pulled back, expression pensive.

"I don't think I minded that at all," he said, pulling me back in.

We kept it to some light snogging, alas we had to get to bed and couldn't play all that much. I left his quarters and went toward my own. I couldn't help but give it another look when I got back. I couldn't help but think I looked a bit like Clark Gable. How ironic was it that I was known for so long as Miss Scarlet now I looked more like Rhett Butler. Ironically both names mean the same: "red." It was still me; me in a different form but all the same. Red, lively, and (as the Germans say) oh so _grell. _

I still can't wait until I get into the office tomorrow, the reactions are going to be priceless.

* * *

Author's Note: I wanted to emphasize this is my concept for Grell and it's in AU territory. If you don't like my concept for Grell, if you don't like how I characterized Grell (or any other canon character) in this setting, please navigate away and find something you will like better.


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